The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Regendered

by L. E. Smart

  "It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined to wait until I got back to town before telling my story to the police. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I went first to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. I put the case into your hands and shall do exactly what you advise."

  We both sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down from the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which she placed her cuttings.

  "Here is an advertisement which will interest you," said she. "It appeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this: 'Lost, on the 9th inst., Ms. Jennifer Hayling, aged twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left her lodgings at ten o'clock at night, and has not been heard of since. Was dressed in,' etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that the colonel needed to have her machine overhauled, I fancy."

  "Good heavens!" cried my patient. "Then that explains what the boy said."

  "Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and desperate woman, who was absolutely determined that nothing should stand in the way of her little game, like those out-and-out pirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well, every moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall go down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary to starting for Eyford."

  Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train together, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village. There were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes woman, and myself. Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the seat and was busy with her compasses drawing a circle with Eyford for its centre.

  "There you are," said she. "That circle is drawn at a radius of ten miles from the village. The place we want must be somewhere near that line. You said ten miles, I think, madam."

  "It was an hour's good drive."

  "And you think that they brought you back all that way when you were unconscious?"

  "They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having been lifted and conveyed somewhere."

  "What I cannot understand," said I, "is why they should have spared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden. Perhaps the villain was softened by the man's entreaties."

  "I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face in my life."

  "Oh, we shall soon clear up all that," said Bradstreet. "Well, I have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon it the folk that we are in search of are to be found."

  "I think I could lay my finger on it," said Holmes quietly.

  "Really, now!" cried the inspector, "you have formed your opinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is south, for the country is more deserted there."

  "And I say east," said my patient.

  "I am for west," remarked the plain-clothes woman. "There are several quiet little villages up there."

  "And I am for north," said I, "because there are no hills there, and our friend says that she did not notice the carriage go up any."

  "Come," cried the inspector, laughing; "it's a very pretty diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do you give your casting vote to?"

  "You are all wrong."

  "But we can't all be."

  "Oh, yes, you can. This is my point." She placed her finger in the centre of the circle. "This is where we shall find them."

  "But the twelve-mile drive?" gasped Hatherley.

  "Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?"

  "Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough," observed Bradstreet thoughtfully. "Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature of this gang."

  "None at all," said Holmes. "They are coiners on a large scale, and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the place of silver."

  "We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work," said the inspector. "They have been turning out half-crowns by the thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that showed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks to this lucky chance, I think that we have got them right enough."

  But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not destined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into Eyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.

  "A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off again on its way.

  "Yes, madam!" said the station-mistress.

  "When did it break out?"

  "I hear that it was during the night, madam, but it has got worse, and the whole place is in a blaze."

  "Whose house is it?"

  "Dr. Becher's."

  "Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr. Becher a German, very thin, with a long, sharp nose?"

  The station-mistress laughed heartily. "No, madam, Dr. Becher is an Englishwoman, and there isn't a woman in the parish who has a better-lined waistcoat. But she has a lady staying with her, a patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and she looks as if a little good Berkshire beef would do her no harm."

  The station-mistress had not finished her speech before we were all hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under.

  "That's it!" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. "There is the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That second window is the one that I jumped from."

  "Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had your revenge upon them. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now."

  And Holmes' fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful man, the sinister German, or the morose Englishwoman. Early that morning a peasant had met a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes' ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their whereabouts.

  The firewomen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. About sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and they subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been already referred to.

  How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the spot where she recovered her senses might have remained forever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain tale. She had evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other unusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable that the silent Englishwoman, being less bold or less murderous than her companion, had assisted the man to bear the unconscious woman out of the way of danger.

  "Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return once more to London, "it has been a pretty business for me! I have lost
my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have I gained?"

  "Experience," said Holmes, laughing. "Indirectly it may be of value, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your existence."

  X - The Adventure of the Noble Spinster

  The Lady St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which the unfortunate bride moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no memoir of her would be complete without some little sketch of this remarkable episode.

  It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that she came home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for her. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend's noble correspondent could be.

  "Here is a very fashionable epistle," I remarked as she entered. "Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a tide-waitress."

  "Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety," she answered, smiling, "and the humbler are usually the more interesting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a woman either to be bored or to lie."

  She broke the seal and glanced over the contents.

  "Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all."

  "Not social, then?"

  "No, distinctly professional."

  "And from a noble client?"

  "One of the highest in England."

  "My dear lady, I congratulate you."

  "I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of her case. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the papers diligently of late, have you not?"

  "It looks like it," said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in the corner. "I have had nothing else to do."

  "It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is always instructive. But if you have followed recent events so closely you must have read about Lady St. Simon and her wedding?"

  "Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."

  "That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lady St. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. This is what she says:

  "'MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES: -- Lady Backwater tells me that I may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I have determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding. Ms. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is acting already in the matter, but she assures me that she sees no objection to your co-operation, and that she even thinks that it might be of some assistance. I will call at four o'clock in the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of paramount importance. Yours faithfully, ST. SIMON.'

  "It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen, and the noble lady has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer side of her right little finger," remarked Holmes as she folded up the epistle.

  "She says four o'clock. It is three now. She will be here in an hour."

  "Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client is." She picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside the mantelpiece. "Here she is," said she, sitting down and flattening it out upon her knee. "'Lady Roberta Walsingham de Vere St. Simon, second daughter of the Duchess of Balmoral.' Hum! 'Arms: Azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846.' She's forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was Under-Secretary for the colonies in a late administration. The Duchess, her mother, was at one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs. They inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and Tudor on the distaff side. Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in all this. I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something more solid."

  "I have very little difficulty in finding what I want," said I, "for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew that you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of other matters."

  "Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square furniture van. That is quite cleared up now -- though, indeed, it was obvious from the first. Pray give me the results of your newspaper selections."

  "Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal column of the Morning Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks back: 'A marriage has been arranged,' it says, 'and will, if rumour is correct, very shortly take place, between Lady Roberta St. Simon, second daughter of the Duchess of Balmoral, and Mister Harry Doran, the only son of Alyssa Doran. Esq., of San Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.' That is all."

  "Terse and to the point," remarked Holmes, stretching her long, thin legs towards the fire.

  "There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers of the same week. Ah, here it is: 'There will soon be a call for protection in the marriage market, for the present free-trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home product. One by one the management of the noble houses of Great Britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across the Atlantic. An important addition has been made during the last week to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by these charming invaders. Lady St. Simon, who has shown herself for over twenty years proof against the little god's arrows, has now definitely announced her approaching marriage with Mister Harry Doran, the fascinating son of a California millionaire. Mister Doran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much attention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only child, and it is currently reported that his dowry will run to considerably over the six figures, with expectancies for the future. As it is an open secret that the Duchess of Balmoral has been compelled to sell her pictures within the last few years, and as Lady St. Simon has no property of her own save the small estate of Birchmoor, it is obvious that the Californian heir is not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable his to make the easy and common transition from a Republican gentleman to a British peer.'"

  "Anything else?" asked Holmes, yawning.

  "Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note in the Morning Post to say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would be at St. George's, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen intimate friends would be invited, and that the party would return to the furnished house at Lancaster Gate which has been taken by Ms. Alyssa Doran. Two days later -- that is, on Wednesday last -- there is a curt announcement that the wedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lady Backwater's place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices which appeared before the disappearance of the bridegroom."

  "Before the what?" asked Holmes with a start.

  "The vanishing of the gentleman."

  "When did he vanish, then?"

  "At the wedding breakfast.
"

  "Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be; quite dramatic, in fact."

  "Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common."

  "They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during the honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this. Pray let me have the details."

  "I warn you that they are very incomplete."

  "Perhaps we may make them less so."

  "Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is headed, 'Singular Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding':

  "'The family of Lady Roberta St. Simon has been thrown into the greatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which have taken place in connection with her wedding. The ceremony, as shortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the previous morning; but it is only now that it has been possible to confirm the strange rumours which have been so persistently floating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to hush the matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it that no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what is a common subject for conversation.

  "'The ceremony, which was performed at St. George's, Hanover Square, was a very quiet one, no one being present save the mother of the bridegroom, Ms. Alyssa Doran, the Duke of Balmoral, Lady Backwater, Lady Eugenie and Lord Clark St. Simon (the younger sister and brother of the bride), and Lord Alistair Whittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of Ms. Alyssa Doran, at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been prepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by a man, whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to force his way into the house after the bridal party, alleging that he had some claim upon Lady St. Simon. It was only after a painful and prolonged scene that he was ejected by the housekeeper and the footwoman. The bridegroom, who had fortunately entered the house before this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast with the rest, when he complained of a sudden indisposition and retired to his room. His prolonged absence having caused some comment, his mother followed him, but learned from his manservant that he had only come up to his chamber for an instant, caught up an ulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of the footmen declared that she had seen a gentleman leave the house thus apparelled, but had refused to credit that it was her master, believing him to be with the company. On ascertaining that her son had disappeared, Ms. Alyssa Doran, in conjunction with the bride, instantly put themselves in communication with the police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which will probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very singular business. Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing gentleman. There are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the police have caused the arrest of the man who had caused the original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some other motive, he may have been concerned in the strange disappearance of the bridegroom.'"